


Peak

by yeaka



Category: Smallville
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, Handcuffs, PWP, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Chloe helps Clark see if he can handle intimacy with mere mortals.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “sensory deprivation” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo). Set around s5.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Smallville or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The blindfold isn’t professional—just a tie he never wears—but the handcuffs are, and Clark doesn’t ask how she got them. She holds each wrist up to the bed frame and clips them both together, then gives an experimental tug, as though Clark couldn’t rip them clean away no matter how well they’re sealed. They’re not that: just the reminder. Hopefully, it’ll be enough. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t want to hurt _anyone_ , but it’s safer to try with Chloe, because she already knows what he is and accepts him.

He knows, deep down, that this might be his only hope—she might be the only one that ever will. But he hopes that isn’t true, and he’s got to try. After he checks the risks. He needs to know his own control. He thinks he can reel it all back if he needs to, but if this were Lana, he might not retreat before she notices. And he knows he can’t ever tell her. 

He can’t see Chloe’s smile, but he hopes that’s how she looks. That she’s okay. She finishes with the handcuffs and straightens out—he can feel her weight adjusting. She’s sitting right atop him, laughably light. He can feel her creamy thighs against his bare legs, her skirt forced up by the spread of her position, and if he had his hands free, he might grab her there to steady her. Or to feel other things. But the point is not to move, not to show his strength, so he’s still while Chloe adjusts her seat and lets out a nervous breath.

“Are you sure about this?” She sounds like she’s asking herself just as much as him.

He starts, “Chloe—”

But she insists, “It’s fine, Clark. I’m fine.” He wishes he could see her face to _know_. But she was the one to suggest the blindfold, and she swallows and says, “I’ll... I won’t talk after this, okay? So you can pretend I’m Lana.” Clark winces—they didn’t talk about that, but of course she’d think—“It’s okay. Really.”

He doesn’t see how it could be. He knows she won’t be thinking of anyone else. He listens to her suck in a breath and wishes he’d taken a better look before the tie went on—he’s seen Chloe’s face a thousand times, has it imprinted in his memory, but not the exact way it must look tonight, with the moonlight streaming in from the barn window to shimmer off her yellow hair. She isn’t _Lana_ , but she’s still pretty.

She’s a pretty girl, about to have sex with him, and he stupidly agreed that a blindfold would be the best way to go, because she’s sure he’d rather think he was with someone else. This isn’t one of his smarter plans. 

Her hips shift, her rear lifting off his legs, and he can hear fabric rustling—she’s probably undressing now, taking off her top—a lacy, pretty pink thing that she wouldn’t normally wear and he’s almost sure she picked for _him_ , but then she brought out the blindfold anyway. He’s already down to his boxers, and that was an embarrassing mess. They both blushed the whole time. But they’re not teenagers any more, and he should be able to do this without setting either his cheeks or the barn on fire. He can feel the hem of her skirt rising and wonders if she took off her bra or not. If Lana would. He’ll never know if he doesn’t figure this out, can’t get over his fear of revealing himself through sex, but then he reminds himself that that fear doesn’t apply to Chloe—she’s known all these years and accepted him just the way he is, even helped him, is _so_ good to him that she’d even do this...

A crinkling packet, and then her hands are on his boxers, they’re coming down, and Clark grunts and wishes she’d say _something_. He feels equal parts awkward and aroused. It’s one of his _best friends_ , but her fingers are so _soft_ , so much smaller than his own, and when she wraps them delicately around his shaft to pull it out, it’s rock hard. He can hear her breath catch again. The night air’s cool, but her hands are warm. She tightens around it in a fist, her thumb pressed into the underside, and Clark hisses—he’s only had his own hand there before, and Chloe’s is so much _better_ , especially when she slides up and rolls against his foreskin. She doesn’t have to do this. They don’t need foreplay. But she strokes him anyway, a few slow pumps, fingers closed tight like she’s trying to memorize every detail. He wonders if she is. If she’ll think of this the next time she touches herself. He’s never thought about it before, even though he’s had fleeting, teenage, hormonal flashes of what it’d be like to _fuck_ her, like he does with most pretty girls—but what must it be like when Chloe touches _herself_? She’s so independent. She probably does it often. He pictures her at home, knowing her bedroom well, but then switches to their old haunt: the _Torch_ , her bent over her laptop with her skirt rolled up and these exact fingers buried inside her, her computer open to pictures of Clark...

She lets go, and he tells himself to stop it: that’s not what this is for. He’s not supposed to be thinking about Chloe at all. The blindfold’s done nothing to stop him.

Something slick and rubbery circles the tip of his cock, and then she’s rolling down the condom like they saw way back in Sex Ed. She does it fast and easy, and he has a flash of jealousy over the thought of Chloe having practice. When she’s got the ends of the condom snugly down against his balls, she pauses like she’s going to say something, but then must think better of it. Clark can’t believe this is really happening. Even when they first discussed it, her with a careful suggestion drenched in both nerves and eagerness and him with just a startled squawk, it didn’t seem _real_. _He’s really going to have sex with Chloe_.

Her weight leaves him, her knees still pressed against the outside of his thighs. She takes a hold of his cock again, the thin veil of the condom only slightly diminishing the contact, and then he can feel his tip pressed against something soft and spongy.

Now he _really_ regrets the blindfold. His other senses race to compensate—he weeds through the other smells of the barn to hone in on _her_ , both the flowery perfume at her collarbone and the raw arousal between her legs—he narrows out all other sensations to just the velvet slickness of her folds, damp and warm—he listens to her weak moan, barely stifled. He moves to hold onto her hips, but his arms just jerk in the handcuffs, and it reminds him to be still. She holds him in place and starts to sink down.

The second Clark’s breached her, he’s in heaven. His head rolls back on the pillow, mouth opening to moan, and he can hear her crying out. She’s so _hot_ , so _wet_ ; he hadn’t expected that. It’s not like when he uses his own hand with lube, but thick and moist and practically bubbling around him. He wants to buck up and shove his entire length into her slender body, but it’s already tight as hell, and he knows he can’t—Clark grits his teeth and _fights_ to lie still. He feels like his hips are trembling from the sheer force of holding back. He lets her set the pace, and she lowers herself bit by bit, spilling lewd noises the entire time that he couldn’t possibly mistake for Lana’s. They’re hot enough on their own. He had no idea Chloe could sound like that—like some poor, fucked-raw porn star already near the end. He had no idea she _felt like this_. It’s better than he thought it would be. He wonders still if it would be better without the condom, with just his raw skin ramming against her bare insides, but then what if he forgot to pull out and _filled her up_ and she wound up fat with little alien babies, and he shouldn’t be thinking about that but can’t stop once he’s started, because Chloe really _loves_ him and maybe would carry his children if he wanted...

She finally reaches the end, her weight dropped back onto his lap, his whole cock housed inside her. She said she wouldn’t talk, but she whimpers just as loud, and he wonders if he’s too much—is he bigger than humans should be? She feels so, _so tight_ , but he’s sure she would’ve stopped if he were hurting her. Or maybe it feels as good for her as it does for him, and any pain is worth it. He wants to hold her down and squeeze her tighter. He’s acutely aware of how easily he could rip the handcuffs away.

She gulps, maybe sobs, and rocks her hips, adjusting, wracking moans right out of him. He wishes he could see her face. There’s no point in pretending; no one else makes noises like that. Then her hands land on his chest, fingers splaying out, and he thinks she needs it to steady herself. She starts to lift up again, already panting, gets halfway and falls back, screaming as soon as she’s back down. Clark growls and tells himself _don’t hurt her_ , but he’d still buck her up if she weren’t already moving, sitting up, pushing down, slow at first, then faster, into a steady rhythm—she bounces up and down on his cock with a sharp stab of _pleasure_ each time. The slapping sound of skin-on-skin, squelched with whatever lube came with the condom and her own wetness, fills the air along with her cries and his grunts. The stench of it is overtaking the rest of the barn. Raw _sex_. She rocks her hips witch each thrust, taking him in strong, rolling movements that blow her mind: she’s _so good_ at this, and he should’ve known, because Chloe’s amazing at so many things. He wishes he could see her. See her blonde hair sway, see her face flush, see her breasts bounce. Wishes he could touch them. He wraps his own knuckles around the chain of the handcuffs and holds it taut, ready, but he still won’t fuck her hard like he wants to.

She fucks herself just fine, rides his cock like she was born to take it. The whining noises are quickly overcome in moaning, in screaming, in sheer _delight_ that makes Clark impossibly harder. He’s never been so hard. Never been so close to the edge or fought so hard to hold back. He wishes he could just lunge up and pound her into the ceiling, into the wall, hell, take her up north and fuck her into the crystal—

Chloe comes with a feral shriek that takes him by surprise, but he knows that’s it. Her nails dig almost painfully into his chest, her hips working into a frenzy, her pussy riding one little spasm after another that feels too good to be true. He can feel her juices flowing thicker, feel her whole body writhing atop him. He hates the blindfold, it was a stupid idea, wants to see her eyes and the way she looks at him mid-orgasm, thinking of _Clark Kent_ the whole time, knowing everything about him...

She mutters, maybe just coming down, a faint, choked, “Clark—” and it’s too much for him. He’s been good this whole, too short time, but he can’t anymore. He _roars_ , jerks his wrists forward and shatters the handcuffs. She startles, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even have the wherewithal to rip off the blindfold, just grabs her and rolls them right around, slamming her into the mattress. He can feel her legs bent in the air, open wide for him, her pussy still stiffed full, and he rams down to make sure of it. Chloe screams, her arms flying around his back, but Clark’s lost control, and now his hips are going for it, pulling out and pounding in, and Chloe’s spent body feels just as good now as it did before, except perhaps a tiny bit looser.

He’s _so close_ to the end, but he holds back enough for a dozen or so brutal thrusts, relentless enough that he’s subconsciously surprised when the bed doesn’t break. He crushes her with his embrace, his arms slipping beneath her thin back to hold her in, his face burying in her shoulder, where he breathes her all in, taking the scent instead of sight: she’s slick with sweat and smells _delicious._ He fucks his way to the most satisfying orgasm he’s ever had and groans, “ _Chloe_...” when he comes.

It’s bliss. For that brief moment, he loses track of time, loses all sense of weight, of temperature, just exists in that one perfect moment of unadulterated _pleasure_ , and then he’s slowly ebbing back, his ears practically ringing. 

He realizes he’s still fucking her and lets his hips putter out, until he’s given the final slap, and he collapses, still buried to the hilt inside her. He wonders dizzily if the condom held—he wouldn’t be surprised to find out he had super-human seed. 

Chloe either doesn’t share the same worries or is too exhausted to do anything. He can feel her still trembling beneath him. He realizes belatedly that she’s entirely topless: he can feel her small breasts swelling against his pecs. Even like this, utterly satiated and still tingling from the high, the press of her pebbled nipples gives him a spike of _want_. He dares to hold her that much tighter, even though it feels like he’s burning up. He’s probably too heavy for her, but she doesn’t complain. 

She’s the one that fiddles off the blindfold, fingers stuttering to do so. Even when it’s off, he stays pressed against her. As much as he wants a good look at what Chloe looks like in the wake of great sex, he doesn’t want to ruin the moment and put this to an end.

Her fingers thread into his hair. She pets it gently, and it reminds him that of course she wouldn’t be the one to pull away—she wanted this first.

Maybe he does too. He doesn’t know. He’s so confused. He’s still tucked inside her and thinks it should be uncomfortable now that his cock is flagging, but it isn’t really. He wonders if it’s uncomfortable for her but doesn’t want to ask. Maybe it’s an alien thing.

Maybe it’s a Chloe’s-always-good-for-him thing. When he does finally lift up onto shaken hands and knees to get a proper look at her dilated eyes, he thinks she might be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. Sex definitely agrees with her. 

He gives in to the want to _kiss her_ , then lets her tug him in for another round.


End file.
